


Heat

by ArchitectofSorrow



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, F/M, M/M, Pon Farr, Rape Fantasy, Spock POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchitectofSorrow/pseuds/ArchitectofSorrow
Summary: Spock falls apart as the blood fever comes over him. Spock's POV. Beginning of "Amok Time." Character Study.





	

Heat like he never felt before, warm and then burning. The ship used to feel cool to him. Now he is in a fever, and he can’t decide if everything is blurred or clearer. Things he barely noticed in past become an obsession, an agony. How could he have been blind to Sulu’s perfect cheekbones or Uhura’s soulful eyes? Chekov stands so close to him as Spock shows the new navigator a particular on the science console. Chekov’s young – his lips are soft, his skin smooth, his heart pumps blood, his lungs breathe. Spock wants all of it, another body, anybody. Even McCoy is of interest. Big, popping blue eyes and a thin frame. He could push the doctor down so easily. In his head, he can hear McCoy’s cries and protests, and he shudders and quakes. He tries shutting his mind to it, but he cannot block the yearnings even with deep meditation. Touching himself provides no lasting relief; rather it amplifies the sensation in his mind. He craves another’s skin, another’s flesh.

Not long ago in lazy evenings Spock fantasized about the captain raping him. Jim would stab him with a needle or put something in his drink, and Spock would fall, wordlessly, onto his bed where the captain would splay him out. Jim would smile at him, as he removed Spock’s boots, the same teasing, taunting smile he showered on Spock in their everyday conversations. His movements would be painfully slow, as he took off the boots, the shirt, the undershirt, and then finally Spock’s trousers and briefs. Jim would eye him all over, while Spock watched the door, waiting for a rescue that would never happen. Jim would calmly tell Spock what he was going to do, as he removed his own pants, and would take Spock despite his quiet objections. After the captain got his pleasure, he would depart – leaving Spock spent, naked, and humiliated. 

That was just a desire, though, a fancy concocted from sexual suppression. Now Spock’s lust is irrepressible. It is an ache he cannot alleviate, an unquenchable thirst. He needs to make contact or he will die. 

His thoughts fly back to T’Pring. The one he was given to at seven, the one given to him. He can still hear her clear, cold voice, see the grace of her body as she moved without him. She was always walking away, always leaving him. Her dark hair flowing down her back, catching the light of the sun, glinting copper.

‘Spock, now is not the time.’

‘Spock, stop following me.’

‘Spock, leave me alone.’

So, he left her alone, though it pained him. No friends. No one to talk to. Not even his betrothed had time for him. He was unworthy. He was the dust that crusted up the windows. He was dung on a doorstep, and he crumpled on his bed with the door locked and sobbed and screamed without sound until he could gain control of his misery. Puberty almost undid him. Perhaps this will.

He erupts in front of his captain. It is Chapel’s fault. She will not stop prying. He does not remember throwing the soup bowl at her but he sees it crash against the wall. The words he hurls out are also cruel and forgotten. Chapel cringes back. And Jim, in the corridor with the doctor, looks like the world flipped over. Quickly, Spock composes himself, strings words together to request leave, go home to Vulcan. 

Jim wants to know why. He won’t let that go. Over and over and over, he demands it, pleads with his eyes. When the doctor says Spock’s dying, it just exacerbates Jim’s curiosity. He has to know. Spock wishes Jim would leave him alone in his anguish. He is losing control of his body and mind. His hands keep shaking. He can barely hold his stylus, and he can’t, he can’t think straight, and Jim keeps asking questions, and he wants to tell him, but he doesn’t want Jim to know. Jim has always treated him like an equal, like a person, not an alien but a friend, but humans have no estrus cycle, no heat, no madness like this. If the captain were to find out, would he view Spock differently, as someone subhuman, an animal even? 

Spock is going to die, or maybe make it to Vulcan, consummate the marriage he was bound to since childhood. Neither future truly appeals to Spock, but then again, the universe owes him nothing, certainly not happiness. All he asks is for a little dignity, for Jim to remain in the dark. These urges, they are irrational, feral. He wishes he could bury them away, like he did before with every sexual or romantic complication, but the heat drives on, and his body feels like it will explode out of every pore.


End file.
